


Leather Bound

by bubblyani



Category: The Promise (2016)
Genre: F/M, Self Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblyani/pseuds/bubblyani
Summary: A Musician and A Journalist cross paths in an unlikely manner in Morocco. All because of a Notebook: Black and Leather Bound.
Relationships: Chris Meyers/Reader





	Leather Bound

"I knew I would never regret waiting for you"

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_**1919, Morocco**_ Never would you call yourself an avid buyer like other women. Yet you would not deny yourself the simple pleasures of walking around in a Souk* at the city of Marrakech. The splash of vivid colors that came in the form of a variety of goods sold, along with the distinctive shouts and conversations in Darija*, certainly provided your eyes and ears a source of indulgence. The goods ranged from clothing, carpets, spices, ceramics, the list went on. The indulgence was indeed taken seriously, for you were fully aware of the fact these luxuries will never be within your grasp once you left this part of the world.

"Mademoiselle!” But as much as you adored Souks, you simply could not stand the marketplace specialty: The overenthusiastic vendors.

Rolling your eyes, you proceeded to walk through the crowds as you felt that vendor following you. Your fingers drummed mercilessly over the strap of your leather side bag, for your heart suddenly longed to be somewhere else.

“Ah! Mademoiselle!” the vendor began, finally catching up behind you, “Voulez-vous acheter de la soie?” _Would you like to buy some silk?_

The middle aged Moroccan inquired in his thick Moroccan accent. This tactic may certainly work with other foreign women, but you were an exception. Besides you were not the type to shop.

“No no! Merci!” _No no! Thank you!_

Shaking your head, you replied in your best French as you kept walking ahead. If only the crowds could carry you away just like the stormy seas. Yet the vendor was persistent and experienced enough.

“Pourquoi Mademoiselle...C'est tres belle..." _Why madam? It’s so beautiful_

The more complicated the language became, the more frustration that filled in your belly. Groaning, you turned to him, "Oh for god's sakes...No no-HEY!"

A cry escaped your lips the moment you bumped into someone. Turning your head, you saw a skinny younger man before you. With narrow eyes and a suspicious expression, he suddenly jerked as if he just touched fire. Raising his arms in defense, he fled over to the right. You found it difficult to comprehend for everything just happened so quickly. Perhaps it was indeed so fast. You looked down when you felt something resting on your hands.

It was a Notebook, Black and Leather Bound. You could not help but stare at it, especially when you found it staring back at you. How did this come into your possession?

The crowd parted as you looked up, catching the sight of a particular man walking ahead, a man with his cloth bag pack slightly opened. Gasping, only then did you form the connection.

You ran after him. He was tall and brunette, and quite easy to spot in his beige cotton suit. Finally caught up, you tapped him on the shoulder. “E-excuse me, Sir-?” You panted, to watch him turn with confusion. And suddenly you were not panting anymore.

You swore a gust of cool wind blew your way in the midst of this midday heat the moment you saw him. However, you did not know whether it was in reality, or simply in your imagination. Given his silence, you were forced to take the next step. “Do you…speak English?” you asked meekly, before you even proceed to make an embarrassment of yourself. “Yes, yes I do…” he answered faster than expected. His accent proved him to be American. Relief washed over you. “Oh, thank god..." you sighed, concern replaced with a smile, "It's just that I think this...is yours, is it?" You asked, as you showed him the notebook. For a split second, you prayed that you were not asking for trouble by being too kind. But the moment you saw him pull his bag forward and dig his hand into it, you knew you made the right choice. Exhaling with equal relief, he looked at you.

"Yes, this is...” He said, taking it from you, “But how did you-"

"I think I bumped into the man trying to pickpocket you..." you chuckled, pointing at the crowd to your right. Amused, he chuckled back to your surprise. ”I swear…” you added, “Just like-Oh!"

An accidental shove from a large man behind, caused you to trip forward in the crowd. Fortunately, the American managed to catch you in time.

“Just like that, you mean?" He asked, with a hint of jest. His voice, it proved to be very pleasant to your ears. "Yes...very accurate..." You replied breathlessly, "Thank you" Heated cheeks intensified your blushes, being in the arms of this stranger. Close enough for you to certainly notice the mole on the right side of his nose. Close enough for you to be introduced to the hazel green orbs that resided as his eyes. He may have been a stranger, yet his arms were the safest.

“Mr. Meyers!" A man called out loudly, causing you to stand straight on your own once again.

Giving you one last look, the American bowed his head to you with respect.

"Thank you very much, Mademoiselle"

He said, his notebook held tightly in his grasp as he disappeared into the crowd. All the while you remained standing there, like a buoy amidst the sea of people that moved around you.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"More coffee, madam?"

You raised your chin to see the friendly face of the Hotel Manager. Only when he motioned to the empty cup sitting on the table before did you realize his curiosity. You merely smiled: “That was enough for today, thank you Mr. Omar” You replied. The Manager nodded in understanding, "Looking forward to hearing you play tonight" he said, as he signaled a waiter to clean up your table.

“That’s good to hear…” you said warmly, inaudibly thanking the waiter during. With your fingers drumming over your lap in rhythm, you took another glance at your surroundings. As much as the Hotel Lobby was crowded this afternoon, so was the Tea Lounge right next to it. You loved this Hotel, and always will. With traditional Moroccan architectural design features appearing to be quite prominent, it certainly incited you to grow more inquisitive about the culture of the Country you currently resided in.

Your meeting was scheduled to begin, yet you were forced to wait for the other party. After half an hour, your impatience could be empathized. Thus, your eyes kept wandering over to the Front Desk back and forth. It grew so frequent that it suddenly turned into a habit. But on your fifth glance over made you freeze. It made your fingers halt, it made your eyes widen, forcing you to silently be surprised with who you saw.

The American stood by the Front Desk, seemingly in conversation with the male receptionist. The mere sight of him before you once again, somehow brought a sense of happiness to you. Perhaps your glance was prolonging enough, when he finally looked over, to find your eyes on him.

His smile proved that his memory was still fresh from that morning. Suppressing a wider smile, you nodded coolly in acknowledgement. But you felt your heart sink down, the moment he suddenly turned back, and was ushered into a small room nearby.

A coincidentally short glance, you thought to yourself, looking back at your own lap. As your fingers began to move from side to side, you felt that sense of happiness was suddenly non-existent. Over-attached, you told yourself. Better steer away from that awful habit.

“I don’t think I thanked you enough earlier…”

Your eyes shot up upon hearing that voice, for there he stood in front of you. That awful habit will have to linger a little while longer, it seemed. That happiness returned, washing you down in the most calming manner. Smiling fully, you uncrossed your legs and sat up straight.

“On the contrary, it was quite sufficient…” You replied politely. He chuckled, his smile tamed by the majesty of his thick circle beard. “No you don’t understand…” he began, “This… is very important to me…” You grew excited the moment he pulled out the Black Leather Bound book from his bag.

“Are you just checking in?” You inquired with genuine curiosity, motioning towards the Front Desk. “Oh that was done a while back…” he said casually, looking back over there, “I was sending a Telegram" he added, turning back towards your direction. Your confused silence had gone through to him, “I’m a journalist for the Associated Press....Christopher Meyers", he declared, extending his hand to you.

Taking it firmly, you introduced yourself in return. "Please take a seat..." you said, showing him to the elaborate armchair next to yours. You were not ashamed to admit to yourself how much you appreciated the touch of his hand. The grip was certain, the feel was comforting.

"Did you read any of it?” Chris Meyers suddenly asked, motioning to his notebook. Quickly, you shook your head with certainty, “No".

“Why?" His own genuine curiosity was evident. The manner his beard lifted from both ends of his face, suggested a small smile of fascination. You shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly.

"It was not my place to do so..." You replied, for it was the truth. Chris narrowed his eyes.

"But I was just a stranger…" he posed back,”Why would you have cared what I thought?"

"Doesn't mean I can break the trust of a fellow human being” you answered back in kind, crossing your legs gracefully. Leaning forward, you kept your hands together, "Confidentiality should be a right, not a privilege…” you smiled, “I'm sure you would agree more than anyone, Mr. Meyers"

Nodding, his small smile grew into a much larger one, as he looked at his own book. Truthfully, you were quite prideful of how well you managed to present yourself before him. But there was no airs to put on, for you were simply being truthful.

"Would you like to read it?”

This inquiry of his tempted more excitement than you could conceal. Your eyes widened.

"Please don't toy with my emotions, Sir” you begged, "Your notebook had been secretly haunting my thoughts ever since..." 

You blabbered out without a sense of consciousness, forcing you to pause shyly.

While his deep chuckles filled your ears, you took the book from his welcoming hands, as it was a newborn baby. Your movements were slow. Opening it so delicately, you flipped the pages with care. For every few seconds, your eyes would stop at certain places when they caught on a riveting passage written by him. All important events you read in the recent past. They were familiar, yet unfamiliar at the same time, for they were in his words, which seemed most realistic, more eloquent. At that moment, you were a treasure seeker.

"I would not want to read anything you would not approve…” you said, eyes still on the pages, “But whatever sentence that caught my eye…I have to say, they’re so beautifully written…” your sincere appreciation brimmed when you looked at him. Seemingly flustered, Chris looked down shyly,

"Well th-"

"Excuse me, Madam!" Mr. Omar’s voice cut through the conversation. With his hand gracefully extended towards the Hotel Entrance, he pointed a young man who stood there waving

“Oh…" The sole reason for waiting at the Lobby was finally reminded.

“I'm sorry but I have to go…" you said to Chris, standing up. Quickly standing up alongside you, he displayed courtesy that you did not wish to leave behind.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Meyers-” “Chris!" He corrected. Grinning, you handed the book back to him.

"Thank you…Chris" You said, giving clear emphasis to his name, before you took your leave.

Taking confident and unexpectedly rhythmic steps, you walked over to the young man. He was a Moroccan native, appearing to look quite smart in his white cotton shirt tucked into dress pants. He scratched his head with embarrassment the moment you stood before him.

"So sorry for being late, Madam” He uttered. You shook your head with a smile. "It's perfectly fine, Beni...I'm actually relieved. Wait!”

Your firm request made him freeze in an instant, “Stay still…" you ordered, as you stood right in front of him, "That tall man…” you muttered, subtly motioning to Chris, who you guessed still stood a few feet away, “…Is he still looking?”

Looking at him from the corner of his eyes, Beni’s eyes moved back at you. “Yes,” he answered subtly, “…and he seems quite curious”. Beni grew tense, “Is he making you uncomfortable?"You chuckled loudly.

"Oh! On the contrary…" you replied, pleased with what you heard,”Let’s go..."

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thundering applause, it echoed through the marble hall. But that brimming sound quieted the moment you stared at the grand piano with focus. The entire crowd watched you with bated breath; you could sense it, even with the waiters in this restaurant. Mr. Omar did not hesitate to shush a drunken customer with his hand, just to preserve the silence. Suppressing a smile, you took in a deep breath as you rested your fingers on the keyboard, your muscles signaling them to play.

Two single opening notes, followed by a chord. Robert Schumann’s “Träumerei” fueled through your fingertips on to the keys, enlightening everyone’s ears with its serenity. And for two whole minutes, nothing was heard except for your playing over a pin drop silence.

Lost in your own state of dreaming, your playing was akin to a meditation. You took your time, unaware of your surroundings. The keys were nimble, cooperating with your fingers that felt light as feathers, while the entire piece echoed throughout, with the help of the pedal giving the sustained effect as desired.

And the moment your foot left the pedal, the moment your fingers parted from the keys in sweet farewell, applause began to fill the room. The volume was louder than usual, as everyone offered you a standing ovation, drawing themselves away from their food and beverage. Smiling with satisfaction, you turned to face the audience, sitting at their dinner tables. Standing up, you gave the usual curtsy.

You felt fulfilled. It seemed complete. You had done what you were needed to do. Thus, you were nothing but proud. Scanning through the audience, your eyes suddenly widened. Dressed in a fine formal suit, Chris Meyers walked over to you from the crowd. He flashed a gentle smile, as he extended his hand to you.

“May I?” He asked. You smiled back, taking the hand offered the moment music began to play in the background. The Hotel Musicians finally got to their places, commencing their usual repertoire, inviting all guests to dance their hearts away.

The way his hand held on to your waist, you were suddenly aware of the existence of your own body in its physicality. You were suddenly aware of the silken material of your close fitted evening dress. And the way his other hand enveloped your own, you were finally appreciative of the sheer concept of human touch.

Swaying side to side to the waltzing music, you looked into his eyes, hoping to relay the genuine joy your heart was illuminating.

“I’ll allow myself to be candid…” you began, “I am quite happy to see you again…” It caused him to smile. Finally, you possessed the ability to indulge in his smile up close tonight, finally after two whole days. “I never got to ask you why you were here in the first place, and tonight I got the answer…”Chris responded, “Do you always play here?”

“I’m a pianist, but a traveling one…” you answered, feeling your insides bursting in joy at the thought of his curiousity, “I play wherever I’m contracted…In return I receive lodging and food…and experience” you added, looking around as you both slowly waltzed across the dancing floor. With a very few couples dancing, all eyes were on the two of you. Your own eyes may have wandered off, but you felt ashamed the moment you realized Chris had one intended eye line, looking at no one else but you.

“You caught me in the right time…” you began, “…my contract ends tomorrow…” All the sudden, that phrase seemed to bring you sadness. You were always sentimental about it, of course, But never sad.

Chris did not reply. He merely nodded. “I never heard that Schumann piece you played before…” He finally spoke, changing the subject. To which you were relieved for. Denial was definitely a state you were happy to be living in, especially if denial meant the arms of a wonderful American journalist.

“It’s the 7th movement…” you explained, “… from a set called ‘Kinderszenen’…which means-” “-Scenes from Childhood?” Chris inquired, finishing your sentence. Impressed, you nodded with smile, “Yes exactly…” you replied, “I suppose German is essential for you in this day and age…” you chuckled. “Very essential, I might add…” “I only know the musically essential words…” you admitted embarrassingly, “…and of course, the word _kaputt_ *!” 

Laughter erupted from both of you. Dancing was still at play as the laughter quieted. You sensed Chris look around with a tense expression. “You’re here alone…or waiting for your…” he paused, “….partner?”

“Oh…”you exclaimed, “… you mean the one from?” you began, pointing towards the hotel entrance, to which he nodded. Realizing, you laughed so abruptly. “….no no he’s not…” pausing, you took a deep breath, “He’s not…No” you added firmly, causing him to be quite confused.

“You see?” you guided his eye-line over to one dinner table, over to a tall waiter who served drinks to a few European customers, who seemed oddly familiar. Who certainly was that young man you met in front of him.

“That’s Beni…” you said, pointing at the young man, “He works at the hotel. His sister, Leila she…” you smiled, “She loves to play, but cannot afford a tutor, so I volunteer to teach her ever so often" you said as you kept on dancing.

With his face seemingly more relaxed now, Chris smiled with no hesitation. “Well, that's very kind of you...” He murmured with kindness. “Chances come in thinnest forms of stacks for a woman in this world” you said, “So I try…" 

His smile did not forsake him yet. "You remind me of someone…" He said. "No one bad, I hope…" you joked. He chuckled. "Not at all... Ana is-” he paused, "…Ana _was_ …wonderful” he said, his voice growing softer, “…and kind” As much as there was warmth, you could also sense sadness in his tone. Even his eyes did not lie. The thought of this mysterious woman certainly had hit him quite emotionally. And you never felt guiltier.

"I'm sorry…" you murmured, ”I never intended to remind you of something so dreadful...." "You didn’t….You-” he stopped, only to smile once again, “…truthfully, you’re far from a discomfort to me...”

A tingle, you felt it in your heart; a tiny push that tempted your fragile heart to feel new, refreshed and bright. Suddenly you were overwhelmed with so much emotion. Deeply moved by his opinion of you, you could not help but respond: “Oh…Chris-” “Mr. Meyers!” The sound of a waiter broke the two of you apart. “It’s a call from the Ambassador...” the waiter added with much urgency. A few minutes go by and you watched him. Standing by the Front Desk, Chris spoke on the phone with focus and intensity. You began to grow worried for he did not seem happy. Nodding fast, he finally hung up, giving you a reason to rush over to him.

“Is everything alright?” You asked. Bowing his head down, he was quiet for a few seconds, his fists clenched. Once they loosened, he looked at you. “They want me at Tangier...apparently there has been an attack…” he said, softly. “How long will you be there for?” You asked. “I don’t know…” he replied. With his hands on his hips he looked over to the entrance, “They’re coming over to pick me up now”.

You were no child; you were perfectly aware of what his job entailed. Besides, you certainly were not in the position to make any decisions for him. No one was. Just it felt so unfortunate when two people were in the midst of getting to know one another.

“I understand…” you said, “Will it be dangerous?” Your inquiry was filled with concern. Looking back at you, he ran his hand through his slicked hair. “Can’t say…” he breathed.

“Well, then for god’s sake, be safe….” You advised, as the bell boy tried to guide Chris over to his room, “...And Chris?”

He turned in an instant. You bowed your head slightly to him in respect. “Thank you… for tonight …” you said.

You did not expect him to walk back over to you. Taking your hand, he placed a gentle kiss, giving your hand a firm grip before he left your sight.

Suddenly, you felt heat rushing back to you, for the cool wind had left you.

“Madam…”Mr. Omar found you, “What time will you head to Casablanca tomorrow?”

Emotions in the most convoluted forms hit you in the head. And it kept hitting you until dizziness announced itself. Realizations followed soon after, more than you could ever handle. Holding on to his shirt sleeve, you lost your balance.

“I need to sit down...” You breathed.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Yes, you sat down. You even headed back to the restaurant. Food came into contact with your taste buds, yet all felt numb. Wine was absorbed into your system, yet no pleasure was taken in it, for you were too lost in your own pondering. And before the thought of tomorrow even dawned, before you left this restaurant, you had made your final decision.

Tomorrow definitely would not be your last day here in Marrakech.

3 month contract in Morocco. That was the initial plan. But an impulsive decision had forced you to make a change. All with the sole purpose in mind. To wait for him. For Chris. The fellow musicians in your troupe who traveled with you, they thought you were mad. Of course they would. You remembered them calling you many names over the phone.

_Fool!_

_Idiot!_

_Blind!_

Yet, you patiently listened, and wished them well instead before hanging up.

The Hotel however, was surprisingly more understanding than you expected. Extending your contract further, they were thrilled by the thought of you staying in longer. The guests found you to be their favorite musician. And thus, you were able to make the city of Marrakech your second home for little while longer.

But for how long, exactly? When will he be back? With one week already passed, you were suddenly compelled to write to him. Curiosity and most importantly, sheer concern were key factors. And with that, you found yourself writing a letter for him every week.

Every letter would comprise of many pages. Before the fountain pen grazed over the parchment, you would worry of what to say. But, the moment the pen was gripped tightly, you were fueled with emotion to write for almost forever.

You asked of his health, his safety. You proceeded to provide many details of the fascinating events that took place in Marrakech while he was away, including in the Hotel. You mused him about piano playing, the interesting pieces of music he may have heard of. But most importantly, you did not hesitate to ask repeatedly of his well being.

You wondered if he had eaten well, if whoever took care of him had done him enough justice.

_“I have confidence that your book must be filled with the riveting truth that the world will eventually need to hear.”_

You would always mention that in every letter. You wrote anything, and everything. All but the growing feelings you had been developing for him. If desired, you could have easily conveyed your heart through paper. Yet it would not be right. Thus, your letters were ambiguous. But also filled with the affection you knew he would understand. You prayed your words would convey your concern for him in the most comforting manner.

Beni would kindly post them for you. And every time you would see him, your heart would be in silent prayer for good news in return. But all he would ever return were no news, which was worse. Every single week.

There may have been no response, yet you kept writing. And you did for four weeks.

A month had finally gone by. You were alive, yet living was never really done properly. Other gentlemen would make attempts at approaching you, all with sweet words praising your piano skill and beauty. But you just see right through them. They all seemed so transparent. Nothing compared to the the depth you saw in Chris. None of them could interest you the way he did.

How fascinating was your first encounter? Magically coincidental, like the stories you would read in books. How safe were his arms you were accidentally cradled in the midst of the Souk. He was the gust of cool wind that changed your life.

When you played the piano, you took the chance to amplify your own emotion with higher volume. Some nights you would play, craving for his presence. With every piece you played, you relived every conversation, every look, and every accidental and knowing touch you both had shared. Some nights, you played with delicacy and somberness, for you were worried of what might have happened to him. Relieved you were that no one could witness the tears that rolled down your face during. For you were deep in the realization.

If something were to happen to him, would you be the only mourner, even from a distance?

Regardless, every night was a tribute, a tribute for him. You played, waiting for the day you would be privileged to see him watching you once again. Watching you with a prideful look on his face. Waiting for him to ask you to dance with him again. But when exactly? You would wonder.

Lazily brushing your wet hair one morning, the ringing of the phone made you jump. As you answered it, you heard sheer enthusiasm from Beni. A type of enthusiasm you have not heard in one an half months.

Finally, Beni returned to you with a message that made your heart sing even without a single vocal warm up.

_“Madam …He’s back!"_

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You knew his room number, Beni was more than happy to tell you which. You held on to your thin bathrobe tightly as you ran across the stairs, across the carpeted hallways, until finally, you stopped in front of his room. Your knocks were loud, uncivilized and desperate, praying to any god above that he would answer.

The moment you heard the door unlock, your lungs held on to its oxygen as if it will never be refilled. With the door bursting wide open, Chris suddenly appeared before your eyes. His hair was unruly, falling on to his forehead. The white cotton shirt rolled up at his elbows had suggested he had only arrived a few minutes ago. But nothing could capture your attention more than his eyes, which had grown wider than you had ever seen.

“I thought you left…” He breathed. You shook your head frantically. “I didn’t…” you replied,“I couldn’t…” you added, while you panted like a madwoman.

Looking you up and down, Chris quickly came into his senses, urging you to come in. It was obvious he was seemingly quite guilty to leave a lady just in her bathrobe outside in the hallway. Closing the door behind him, he looked at you. The silence could only mean that it was your turn to speak up. And you had been anticipating this moment for a while. Taking a deep breath, you desperately held on to your stomach.

“Chris I-” You paused, in order to take in a deeper breath, “ The moment you left…I just couldn’t imagine leaving this place…” you breathed: “Not until I saw you again…” 

All these words, were a testament to all the nights and waking moments you had imagined this conversation for the past few weeks. And now here you were, what will you say?

“You say I remind you of someone…” you said, your hand slithering over to your chest, “And you said it quite fondly…” you continued, butterflies overcrowding your stomach as your heartbeat increased.

“I don’t care …I don’t care if I only am a reminder…of a shadow in your past…” Your voice breaking whilst maintaining eye contact, “I don’t care if I’m just a mere amusement to you.” Chuckling sadly, your breath shook, "As long as I get to keep reminding you of that past happiness…As long as I get to keep amusing you….” You took another deep breath, “All that…as long as you are aware that its me here…with you…”

After writing to him so ambiguously for so long, this was the only way for you to truly express how you really felt. The only way to open up yourself for him to catch the sight of the love you seemed to have collected every second of your existence from the moment you first met. With his surprised silence, all you could do was to bring both hands to your chest. You exhaled deeply. Whatever he might say now, you will never regret it.

For all your intentions were pure.

“You may-” Chris began, pressing his lips together in frustration, “You may be a reminder…But you’re wrong, you’re not just that…” He stated. You felt yourself relax as he spoke. For his voice indeed a pleasure to listen.

“You are so much more…” Your eyes widened upon hearing his words. His own eyes were softened with certainty. 

Rushing over to his table, he rummaged through his bag, “You wrote to me….” He said, drawing up a stack of your letters. You gasped. All those efforts had not gone in vain.

Pointing at you, he sighed, “You waited…for me…” He breathed, “You-”

You longed to hear nothing more, especially when you found yourself kissing him. With your arms wrapped securely around his neck, You kissed him with passion that was not used in many days and nights. And your heart could feel nothing but joy when Chris kissed you in return. Swooping you up from your feet, he took you along, to the place you could only describe as heaven.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The curtains may have been closed, yet the room seemed to be appropriately lit, even with the smallest ray of sunlight that streamed through. You appreciated the ambience, all the while your head rested on his bare chest. You felt it rise and fall along with the calm rhythm of his heartbeat. Safety became you, as Chris kept his hands on your bare back whilst you lay on top of him. Closing your eyes, you were more than happy to recall the previous amorous moment forever. 

You recalled it all. Kissing him was much more pleasurable than you imagined in your dreams. Even with the beard, you embraced it lovingly, permitting your lips to search for his own, holding on to them with devotion. His lips, they were most precious. Your affection for those lips indicated to him you were more than willing to let him explore even further, as his tongue intertwined with your own.

Disrobing him, you did it with the utmost care, kissing him every time a garment of clothing left his body. Each garment, a reminder of the fact that he was present with you, at that very moment. That it was not a dream. Bodies connected soon after, leaving you feeling safer than ever before. As you straddled him, your hands traveled around his face. Looking at him, you wanted nothing more than to wipe off the weariness from his eyes, all with your love. Your name exited his lips in the form of whispers each time your lips touched his face, for he was the most precious. As precious as the notebook he offered to let you read. Even more precious it seemed, for he was the owner of it. You longed to heal the invisible wound he bore, the one that he fully had not shown you. Regardless, you wanted to tell him how much you cared. How much you valued him. How waiting for him had fueled more emotions than you could ever bottle up on your own. All the while his facial hair tickled your skin when his lips worshiped your body, all the while your bodies remained connected whilst taking on that blessed journey, all until the sacred finishing line was crossed.

Exhaling deeply, you were euphoric to relive that moment for all eternity.

Suddenly, Chris began to run his fingers over your back.

"Are you writing something?" You murmured an inquiry. 

"I suppose I am…." He murmured back, "Can you guess?"

“No..." You replied, still with your head on his chest, "I'm afraid I'm too distracted"

Chuckles erupted from both for your response. And the fingers kept on moving, forcing you to realize something with a smile.

"You want to write something, is it?” You sniggered quietly, “ In your notebook?" 

"No...I-" Chris paused when you looked up at him. Resting on your forearms, you placed your chin on his chest.

"Liar..." You smirked, ”I do that as well..." You admitted, stirring his own curiosity.

”When I'm aching to play something, my fingers just... go crazy...." Your fingers bravely displayed, drumming over his head. Watching his eyes close instantly, you were certain he was quite attentive to your touch, "Inspired...You're inspired, I can tell…" you said.

Falling on to the side of the bed, you clearly offered your permission for him to go. Once receiving your approval, he gladly took it.

You watched him put on his pants, you watched him reunite with his notepad and writing desk, as he began to write. You were not cross, in fact, you were simply drowning in admiration. He was good at his job, and you were in no place to stop him from doing so. Gazing at that notebook, you realized the amount of gratitude you will have for it will be boundless. Dressing in your own bathrobe, you climbed out of the bed to stand by the window. Slowly opening the curtain, you managed to offer him more light to write.

"I want you to read this...before anyone else does…"

Chris said, his eyes still on the notebook as he kept writing. Smiling to yourself , your own eyes were focused to the life outside the window.

"I'd be honored to..." You said. Your eyes may be out, yet your heart was right there with him.

Suddenly the scribbling sound stopped. Sensing it, you both looked at one another.

"I know you've overstayed your welcome here in Morocco…" Chris said, "but...what will you do now?..."

Good question. Another swell of sadness came over you as you plummeted back to reality.

"Home I suppose…” you began, “My contract here is done so...Home" you said nodding, but you reluctant to do so. For admitting this truth would mean, leaving here at last. And this will only be a dream.

But before you could dose yourself further with harsh realities, you watched Chris get up from his chair. Majestically masculine he was walking over to you bare bodied. Breathless, you welcomed his hands gladly when they cupped your face. For his loving hands made you feel ten times lighter.

"Would it be so farfetched of me to ask…” he paused, “If you would like to come with me?"

Your eyes widened. Chris continued: “You can still play and perform, and travel with me, while I write for the Press…” he took a deep breath, as his thumb ran over your cheek, “…nothing would bring me more joy, than to have you with me..."

The moment his thumb grazed over your lips, he did not hesitate to kiss you once again. The instance he kissed, you finally knew what sweet reality tasted like. His proposition was also such a sweet one. Joyous, you kissed him back.

You were happy to realize of the different passions you both had. The drive to keep your soul fulfilled, even if loneliness suddenly made an appearance. Yet, then again life would be more fulfilling, when you could indulge on your passions with a loved one by your side.

Pulling away slightly, you brushed your nose against his own before you finally responded:

"I knew I would never regret waiting for you"

**Author's Note:**

> Souk : A marketplace or commercial quarter in Western Asian, North African and some Horn African cities.
> 
> Darjia: Moroccan Arabic 
> 
> Kaputt: “Broken” in German. 
> 
> ——————————————————


End file.
